but little notice of the strange human figure as it passed. Presently, the
shiftless one stopped again and he did another thing, yet stranger than
the pressing-in of the foot-prints beside the little stream. He drew the
hatchet from his belt and cut a chip out of the bark of a hickory. A
hundred yards further on he did the same thing, and, at three hundred
yards or so, he cut the chip for the third time. He looked well at the
marks, saw that they were clear, distinct and unmistakable, and then the
peculiar little smile of satisfaction would pass again over his face.

But these stops were only momentary. Save for them he never ceased his
rapid course, and always it led straight toward the south. When the sun
was squarely overhead, pouring down a flood of golden beams, he paused in
the shade of a mighty oak, and took food from his belt. He might have
eaten there in silence and obscurity, but once more the shiftless one
showed a singular lack of caution and woodcraft. He drew together dry
sticks, ignited a fire with flint and steel, and cooked deer meat over it.
He let the fire burn high, and a thin column of dark smoke rose far up
into the blue. Any savage, roaming the wilderness, might see it, but the
shiftless one was reckless. He let the fire burn on, after his food was
cooked, while the column of smoke grew thicker and mounted higher, and ate
the savory steaks, lying comfortably between two upthrust roots. Now and
then he uttered a little sigh of satisfaction, because he had travelled
far and hard, and he was hungry. Food meant new strength.

But he was not as reckless as he seemed. Nothing that passed in the forest
within the range of eyesight escaped his notice. He heard the leaf, when
it fell close by, and the light tread of a deer passing. He remained a
full hour between the roots, a long time for one who might have a purpose,
and, after he rose, he did not scatter the fire and trample upon the
brands after the wilderness custom when one was ready to depart. The